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Sutradhara
Il Pescatore Verde Penny was drowning. The sea was like nothing she had ever seen before. It seemed to stretch into forever, but she supposed floating across it was only a matter of time and she had brought plenty of food. When she waded in it failed to support her weight like the quicksilver would and the waves dragged her far from the sand. Surprised and gasping, water flooded into her, salt burning her lungs. Deeper and farther the swift undertow dragged her. Her panic was fueled by the murky darkness, with no air and sound, the sensation of drowning doubled by memories of being caged in her tree. As her she struggled in the depths, she sensed a massive darkness approach her. It seemed to her as if a bottomless pit was rising out from the bottom, swimming toward her, to swallow her. Was it so impatient it could not wait for her to sink? And it all went black. Her back slammed into wood paneling and the vile agony of heaving and retching the salt from her body brought her back into consciousness. 'R'estraining her movements were thick cords of rough hemp, burning her limps as they abraded her skin and rubbed in salt. For a short while, she fought against the ropes constricting her movements, but made no progress. When she finally opened her eyes, leering green eyes stared back. The green eyes were set in a broad green face which in turn was topped by hair made of what seemed to be grass. Ugly, yellow for a change, teeth chewed on the head of a fish, the tail hanging from the mouth. A large calloused hand, green if you must know, pulled the fish, sans head, and wiped the mouth clean. The sun was much higher in the sky than Penny remembered. "Well, Oi'll be. If'n it ain't a thrice-cursed puppet-fish. Oi never thought Oi'd get a secon' chance t' taste one o' ya. Defley wouldn'ave if'n that big fish 'ad caught up. It'll be a bad day if'n 'e ever catches me. As much as Oi'd like to get a bite o' 'im, Oi'm damned sure 'e feels the same toward me! Ha! 'E's like a dog with a bone, thattun." At the mention of dog, the ogre rubs his forearm and grimaces. Penny, her lungs still on fire with the dampness, had trouble correcting the ogre, or speaking at all for that matter. Grabbing oars, the viridian giant dipped them into the water and stroked once, the boat leaping and covering quite a distance in the single exertion. Swiftly the boat was rowed from open water into a waterbound cave. Tying the boat to an iron ring set in the wall, the ogre stepped out and ascended a set of carved stairs, unceremoniously dragging the netted Penny behind him with an oar resting on his shoulder. Deeper into the cave, and well above the highest water mark, the ogre unraveled the net and dumped Penny face first to the ground. Before Penny could so much as sit up, he held her down with the weight of his knee and stripped and trussed her. The rope was more of the rough hemp, irritating the wounds from the net and rough handling up the stairs, causing Penny to whimper a little. Her throat cracked a little with the noise, she was unbelievably thirsty. "Don' be goin' nowhere, puppet-fish. Oi ain't one ta calmly let a fish git away." The Fisherman walked over to a stone pit and grabbed a jar of clear liquid and tossed it in. The glass shattered at the bottom. He then pulled on a thick glove and reached into a pot, pulling out a glowing red rock. This he also tossed into the pit, causing a bright blaze to erupt out before settling down. After a few failed attempts, Penny's voice returned. "You have to realize that I'm not a fish." The ogre dragged a massive grill to the flaming pit and carelessly centered it. "Course ya is. Oi pulled you out o' the ocean. Yer a fish, and you ain't the first puppet-fish I seen neither, 'erefore yer e'en a 'ole breed o' fish. Yer also not the first ta try ta pull the wool o'er me eyes. I ain't been born yesterday." With a heave he dropped a massive pan onto the grill. Just large enough for Penny to lay in comfortably. "But you're talking to me! And I'm responding back! That's what people do. You wouldn't talk to a simple old fish would you? Or eat a person?" The grumpy green giant pulled out a small cask and uncorked it. The grease he poured in popped and crackled at the heat of the pan. "Course Oi talk ta fish. Ain't nobody else to talk ta here, now is there? Gotta jabber with the tunny and the cod or Oi'd go plum crazy. And I certainly wouldnae eat no people, that'd be a roight sign that Oi had gone loony. But people don' come out o' no ocean. They lives on land roight an' proper." The giant grabbed two sacks and upended them one at a time into the pan. Whole potatoes and carrots plopped into the grease. Grabbing his oar, the ogre stirred the vegetables. Penny worked on building up enough saliva to speak. "Listen, I really think you should get a second opinion on whether I'm a person or not. I'm carved from a tree. I would taste nothing like a fish and it would leave a lot of splinters in your mouth. It would be awful." The ogre paused his stirring and looked at her. "Splinters ain't no trouble at all. The other puppet-fish said much the same, so's Oi caught driftwood and flotsam when Oi 'ad the chance and practiced eatin' it. 'Course, 'Oo-knows-'ow-long-dead' wood wasn't quite ta taste, but it toughened up the mouth, an' Oi doubt fresh live puppet-fish ain't scores better. And that's e'en assumin' yer tellin' the truth about bein' made o' wood. But enough gabbin', time ta get ya in the flour. Need ta get ya fryin' afore the taters get burnt." The ogre walked to the ledge and grabbed a rope that led down into the water. He yanked once and a bucket with a perforated lid came soaring up for him to catch, with little spill. He pulled off the lid and readied to douse Penny when his eyes grew wide and he dropped the bucket. He scrambled to pick up some large loose cobbles. Penny followed his stare and saw a massive shadow in the waters of the cave, the level rising faster than the tide ever could. The ogre began chucking his improvised ammunition at it. "Git! Ya don' come in my home ya blasted fish! Ya wan' a bite o' me, take it on the open sea, fair an' square! Ya don' see me comin' ta the Bottom, 'arpoon in 'and, stalkin' ya! Git! Git! Git!" Each Git! was punctuated with a thrown stone. With the Fisherman distracted, Penny pleaded with the rope binding her to undo its knot. The rope twisted and pulled until it lay loosely coiled around her. Staring back at the shadow in the water, she could see it beginning to descend, the water level lowering with it. The ogre seemed satisfied that he had scared it off and turned his back on the water to grab the fallen empty bucket. He did not notice the small black shape detach from the immensely larger form and swim to the steps. The Fisherman tossed the bucket back down and cursed when he realized he forgot to put the lid back on. He began carefully pulling the bucket up so as not to lose the water. Penny slipped from her bonds and grabbed up the stirring oar. Mustering her courage, she swung it right into the back of the giant's head. Penny's hands hurt with the vibration that traveled down the oar. The Fisherman howled in pain and spun around, clipping Penny's arm with the bucket. The bucket shattered and her arm cracked. The infuriated ogre snatched away the oar and swung it down at Penny. The oar splintered on the ground in front of her. The Fisherman was raising up the broken instrument again when he halted at the sound of a burbling growl. Penny and the giant looked to the stairs where a bulge eyed monster with many tiny sharp teeth stalked up. It had the body of a wolf and the fur of an otter, water refusing to stick to its form. Its large paws were webbed and sharp claws clacked on the stone. With each breath its gills flared red. Its cold piranha eyes studied the ogre. "Not agin! No! Oi'll not 'ave a blasted mutt steal away my puppet-fish agin! Git! Or Oi'll smash yer 'ead roight in!" The ogre menacingly advanced on the fish-dog. The nictitating membranes over its eyes closed and it leapt at his throat. The ogre stumbled back and dropped his oar as the hound bit down on his neck. Grasping it by the ruff he tore the beast free. However, the jaws had not yielded the pound of flesh they had grabbed and rich red blood poured free from the hole in his neck. Bubbles formed in the wound as the ogre sucked in a breath to scream. In Penny's shock, she could only marvel at the contrast of red on green. The fish-dog swallowed the chunk of neck and sat down. Penny, cradling her broken arm, tried to stand. The hound stood as well and raised its hackles, growling, and only settling back down when Penny sat down. So, Penny sat and waited. Thirsty, hungry, in pain, and more than a little terrified of this seawolf. It was many hours later that the Warden found her in the cave, coming from some entrance on the land. The scent of long burnt carrots and potatoes covered the copper tang of blood. He had two of the piranha-dogs with him, their nostrils flaring as they scented the blood. He handed the leashes to his assistant, the Rat, and wrapped Penny up in a blanket and picked her up to carry her home. No. Not home. Just a house that she lived in. It hadn't the emotional connection for her to consider it home. Corvus The Warden finished setting the splint on Penny's arm. He gave it a critical look with his moon-sized eyes. Not satisfied with a certain knot, he retied it then pushed himself up with his bannered rod. His head spun around to count that all three fish-hounds and the Rat were still present.Then cleared his throat to speak. "Well, mademoiselle, only your arm was over injured, and that is set now. Your lungs will be irritated for a while, but there is no risk of fluid build up and your legs are fine. You should have no problem walking. After all, you made it this far on foot." Penny nodded, too busy eating a hefty fruit to reply. That Rat grumbled and yanked on the leashes of the fishdogs to get them up. "Damned right she can walk, but why didn't we bring along no goblin to ride? No good reason to have my dogs barkin' at me on account of a puppet what won't keep still." The Warden sighed and adjusted his belt. "You have the best reason of all. The Master wills it. As for the walking, that was entirely for my own exercise and I care not one whit for your 'dogs.' And Phillipe, you will show respect for the girl. She is a veritable piece of art. Insult the Master's handiwork, insult the Master." The Rat looked away and shouldered the packs. He pretended to not notice that the Warden and Penny carried none, and began walking while mumbling to himself. "She's a piece of somethin' alright." The Warden clucked disapprovingly. "Pay no mind to Phillipe, mademoiselle. He has no culture to give him any perspective. I will send him to watch a show put on by Mangiafuoco. It will be a learning experience for him and double as a punishment in his eyes." His head took took a three-hundred and sixty degree view of the surroundings as they walked, then he leaned in conspiratorially. "You understand the Master will not be pleased, yes?" Penny swallowed her bite of fruit and nodded before speaking. "Most certainly. I don't know what punishment he will pick this time, but I'll not complain." A brave statement, but Penny felt much like the mouse under the immense gaze of her warden. His reply was soft. "If only you showed such stoicism towards staying here as you did your punishments. Why even attempt to leave? You owe a debt to the Master. You were broken and he fixed you. He taught you his own craft and sent for tutors so that you may learn to dance. And he ensured that your body would excel in these pursuits, in a manner no mortal could ever reproduce. Not only must you stay here, you should believe it your strongest duty. The punishments themselves should not even be necessary to compel you." Penny let the fruit fall from her hands, the pulp picking up dust as it rolled. "I apologize for how it inconveniences you, but I believe with every fiber that being punished for wanting to leave is the greatest reason of all to desire it. I simply wanted to walk elsewhere at first, but now it is my burning need to escape, and each punishment only stokes the fire." Three days later (and many fine points of philosophy presented by the Warden to Penny rebutted by pure stubbornness) later, The Warden announced that he could see home. This, of course, meant quite a few more hours of walking. Once inside the house Penny went directly to the workshop and climbed up a stepladder to lay upon the worktable. Already waiting for her was the Doctor. The Warden ambled in soon after Penny and at seeing the Doctor seemed of of two minds about staying in the room, head pointed in one directing and feet the other. He instead settled for an awkward greeting, in tone if not wording. "Good evening, Crow. You are doing well, I hope?" The Doctor nodded and began to inspect Penny as he replied, using the stepladder to get the height he needed. "Good evening to you too, Owl. I am doing quite well, thank you for asking. My practice is booming and such. Your... trees are in good health, I expect?" He listened to Penny's breathing with his stethoscope. The Warden seemed rather flustered, betrayed by ruffling of feathers if not color. "Yes, excellent health. I do my best to ensure that. The Master would be in quite a mood if they died before he had the opportunity to repair them. Death brings one of the states of being he can't fix." The Doctor nodded at the Warden's words then gently held up Penny's arm and inspected it, paying close attention to the splint tied around it. "We can only hope." The Crow said softly, then speaking up. "This is a good splint, I'm glad to see you still have opportunities to show off your skill. And as for you young girl, I suggest you stay away from the ocean until you know how to swim and away from that fisherman until you know how to fend off giants." Penny long ago stopped wondering how the Doctor could tell the story of her exploits from wounds alone. The Owl seemed as if he was going to comment on what the Crow whispered but was caught off guard by the compliment and could only mumble thanks before the Doctor spoke again. "Now where is our master? I'm sure he has more work for me than this." "I am right here good doctor." The old man, bent with age, had to stoop further to enter the room. The Warden moved aside to give the Master room, his body bowing but his head keeping sight of the Doctor. The Master adjusted his glasses, their blue light subdued by the afternoon sunlight pouring through the windows. "I see that you've failed to run away yet again. And sustained some damage to your frame as well. This is swiftly becoming unacceptable. I grow tired of these games, child. I grow weary of providing you respite from your own mistakes. And I grow exhausted from meting out your punishments" The Master turned to the Warden. "Where was she this time?" The Warden explained without embellishment his tracking and finding of her, abstaining from offering any opinions on what he did not personally see. The Master polished his glasses and peered at Penny for a long while before his judgment issued from his lips. "The last time you attempted the chalky cliffs, and we removed your arms so that you could not climb. The time before when you purloined my maps, we removed your eyes so that you could not navigate. And the time before that I took your legs from you for crossing the Bridge that is forbidden to you. Do you have any suggestions for an appropriate theme for escaping by sea, Crow?" The Doctor turned his head to appraise Penny with an analytical eye. "I understand that before the Ogre fished her out, she almost drowned. Was that a scary experience, child?" Penny resolutely shook her head no. "Well, she puts on a brave face, but my experience says that drowning is an altogether terrifying experience. Suffocation in general is for those in need of air. Removing her lungs would make for similar sensation and might dissuade further escape attempts." Penny blanched at this suggestion. "However, in my opinion, she would be absolutely useless, to the point of needing to be restrained, for the durance of the punishment. She could at least carve without her legs and dance without her eyes." The Master pulled a chair to the table and sat down, laying a spider like hand on Penny's arm. "No. No. Removing her pieces only discourages her until they are reattached. Presumably, removing her legs permanently would keep her from running anywhere at all." And then he looked into her eyes. "But then you would be broken again. I would have wasted my time, and yours, in having fixed you to begin with. And then there would be the added disadvantage of you being unable to repay me for my services. So, I have a better idea." He reached into his satchel and removed a handful of large shimmering eye screws. "These will be inserted into your frame. This will be utterly invasive and incredibly painful, despite my best attempts to limit the damage. Then the strings will be looped through them." He reached into the air and grabbed the end of a fine rope that led up into nothing before reaching the ceiling. "For the durance of your punishment your body will not be your own. You will have no control. But with a deft hand as the manipulator you will still be able to serve as I will it. I regret it not being a thematic punishment, but it seems the most elegant and practical in one swift stroke." Coinciding with that last word, he caressed her hair." Shh, shh, do not cry. To be still will make the operation and manipulation far more bearable. However, you will need this." The Master inserted a soft wooden bit into her mouth and tied it around her head so that she would not accidentally spit it out. Fire-Eater A deep ache infused Penny's body. Each bump on the road as the cart rolled along sent a spasm through her. What tormented her more than the pain was her inability to rub where she was sore, to stretch, to pick at her scabs. She could only sit demurely in the coach and look at the seat opposite her. Even looking outside was denied for her hands refused to rise and move the curtain. It seemed odd that the strings that so effortlessly supported her weight held her down as securely as manacles, with no anchor for them above her. She only moved with the strings, never without. And so Penny screamed. There was no eye-screw in her jaw, no string to bind it closed. So she cursed and screamed and bit her tongue. Spittle and blood trickled down her jaw and stained her white dress. The driver and the goblin-horse pulling the carriage cared little for her protests which died away as she grew hoarse. With nothing to do but stare and hate, the ride took aeons. The jerking halt of the cart woke her from her doze. The heat was intense and her dress stuck to her skin. She watched as her hand reached for handle of the carriage and opened the door. The latch was hot to the touch, every reflex demanded she jerk her hand back but it would only release when she stepped down onto the polished black floor. She gazed out at a brass city built into the walls of massive furnace. Smoke clogged the sky, but a darker shape loomed behind the black clouds. Silver strings descended from this dark figure and ended at her screws. The man behind the clouds moved and she found herself walking towards a massive organ, the keys forming steps to the doors set where the score should be. She strode into a stifling lobby without direction or purpose, her feet leading her with an authority she found revolting. Wooden soldiers lined the walls, swaying in the heat. One particular soldier leaned too close to the shining walls and jerked away wincing in pain. He quickly patted out the elbow of his coat which had begun to smoke. A gaunt fellow, tall and built of willow, waved her past the two sets of auditorium entrances, one shaped in the mask of Melpomene and the other of Thalia, into a side door bare of thematic decoration. Through a narrow hall she found herself backstage, with the flames of the fire curtains drawing a boundary between her and the auditorium. The audience make up varied between red skinned devils, golden golems, and excitable pillars of fire comfortably seated in iron grills. They laughed as on stage the puppet of an older and gaudily dressed woman strangled a young mahogany maid. The maid broke free and ran through the fire curtain shrieking as the blaze found purchase in her clothes. Penny could only watch, unable to offer any help to the girl. However, the maid seemed to have it all in hand as she ran to a tub set in the wings and doused herself before her limbs became kindling. The maid pulled herself out of the tub and stripped out of the burnt and ridiculous caricature of a maid outfit. She limped past Penny, sparing her a glance and then purposely ignoring her. On stage the older woman adjusted her dress and ignored the jibes being fielded back and forth between a Harlequin clown and a peasant dressed in white with a black long nosed mask. The various actors moved about her as the play progressed, being exceedingly careful to not acknowledge her existence. When a stage entrance was required a portion of the fire curtain would drop down to allow them to pass through unharmed but every exit was a trial by fire. A young boy, playing a peasant's daughter, balked at his exit but was helped along by being bodily lifted and tossed by the Harlequin. He scrambled the wrong way in his terror before the maid doused him with a bucket and then dragged him to the tub. To Penny's astonishment, the actors never ran out of costumes, despite requiring a new one after each exit. The play itself was a comedy on the adulterous exploits of the older woman, Signora Rosaura, which ended in a convoluted and humorous series of murders. The fire curtain dropped, allowing the actors to take their final leave without risk of injury. The audience began filing out. Penny got a better look at those around her as many of them disrobed. The actors, stage hands, and various other staff consisted entirely of puppets. They all were marked in some fashion by the flames of the fire curtain or branded by venturing too close to a metal surface. The man in the black mask seemed to have the majority of his exposed skin covered in elaborate, purposeful, burned patterns. Penny heard a sneeze from behind her and felt a wash of heat on her back. Her body turned and all she saw was darkness,. Then her head tilted up and she found the darkness spilling from a broad face. By outline alone she realized the void was a beard that lapped the ground. Behind the ink stain on the aether was a man who seemed too grand and large for this theater. His mouth was an oven wide enough to bake a sheep and in his eye sockets two hot coals smoldered. A coiled whip of serpents and foxtails was held in fingerless gloves, a bare thumb absently fondled an exposed snake fang. His nose was oddly human, red, and chafed. He pulled out a large handkerchief and sneezed into it, immolating the cloth of the kerchief. The other puppets shied away from this new presence. His voice boomed out, blasting away the silence before it could settle into the empty auditorium. "The old fellow has sent another of his children interested in the stage, eh! Well, well, let it never be said that I've never done him a favor!" He bent closer and his beard pooled on the ground, and Penny momentarily feared she would fall into the yawning pit before her. "But he seems to still be in the habit of being poor at clothing you little scamps. Red splatters on a white dress? You are meeting your new employer, not acting some bride in a Greek tragedy!" Penny was unsure whether to be scared or amused at this juncture, and her words tumbled out. "I- No, it isn't part of the outfit. I cut my mouth." He snorted and the silver strings jerked Penny back a few paces from the resulting gout of fire. "Why would you do such a silly thing? But who am I to judge! If blood is the current style, then I'll not stand in the way of fashion!" And with that he sliced his thumb on the snake fang and wiped the oozing bead of blood onto her dress. The resultant stain then rippled and spread until her dress was a brilliant scarlet.He gave her a critical glance and smiled. “Much better. Now follow me and we'll go over what you have to offer our modest little troupe.” Penny glanced around, letting herself get lost in observing her locale, confident that the strings would do all of the following for her. “I can dance. And help repair the theater. I've never acted before.” The strings were careful to keep her from brushing up against the walls. The large man couldn't help but do so and the spots where his skin touched the brass glowed with even greater heat. Penny resolved to not touch him, despite possibly not having much choice in the matter. “Dancing is all well and good, but you will learn to act. We are a play group, not some vaudeville variety show.” He opened a door and motioned for her to enter first. The strings sidled her past his belly with nary a caress between to the two. The office held a large desk with a small chair for guests and a rugged iron throne behind it, presumably for the man. In the corner squatted an oven almost as large as he, cold and empty, seemingly sucking heat into it. The man heartily blew his nose, destroying another kerchief, and gestured for her to sit. She instinctively reached for the chair, but the strings did not budge so she stood instead. He seemed not to notice, too busy giving a mournful glance to the oven. With a sigh he sat in his chair and noticeably shivered. Cupping his hands to his mouth he breathed into them to warm them and Penny noticed for the first time the blue tinge to his fingertips. The room grew brighter as his throne began to glow a soft orange color. The heat emanating from it stole away Penny's sweat before it could bead her brow. With a wretched cough, he spoke. “My apologies, I am Mangiafuoco. I am the director here, the Great Marionette Theater. For reasons that should be obvious, I deal in much business with your master. He provides the talent, and I direct them, give them purpose. You, my dear, are apparently in need of purpose.” Penny found herself wishing she could frown. As the Director spoke she had begun to realize that his voice should boom and resonate. But all of it's strength had been stolen and she did not like the discordance of what this man should be and what he was. And behind his voice... something else was speaking, trying to grab her attention. “Signor, are you well? You look like me when the mirror in the sky sky cracks and its flakes drift down and the woods grow cold with the shards returning all of the Sun's warmth to it.” The man cleared his throat and spat out a smoldering coal. “Winter you mean, at least winter in your Master's realm. A wretched place and time. But, it is just a chill, pay it no mind. I'm afraid I run a bit hotter than this climate and the difference gives me goosebumps.” The voice under his called out more sharply and Penny's attention was drawn to the oven. Seeing it had caught her notice, it whispered to her in sweet tones. She took a tentative step towards it and was surprised to feel her body obey. The oven crowed encouragement and she took another step with more confidence. “Then let me stoke your oven for you, so that you may be more comfortable. It is a shame you are not at your best.” The room grew bright and reverberated as that boom she had so desired to hear came out as a forceful, “NO!” Startled, she stopped her advance. The oven screamed and cried in rage and desperation. Penny shook. She was used to furniture wanting her company, but this was the first she had ever felt one ''need ''her in such a manner. To be desired on such a level was terrifying... and exciting. Penny glanced to the Director and saw that his throne glowed white with heat and then dimmed as he began to hack from the effort of his command. “I am sorry, my dear. The fuel that particular oven requires to burn hot enough to warm me is something I long ago decided to not allow it, even at my own discomfort. My warning is simple, stay away from it, or it will devour you whole.” Penny nodded and tried to take a step back from it, but was denied by the strings. The oven squatted in its corner, mewling and begging to see her pretty dress up close. Unable to turn her head from the oven, Penny spoke loudly so the Director could hear her better. “I'm very ready to learn. The more I please you, the more favorable your report to the Master will be, and the sooner I shall get rid of these dreadful strings. I have but one request, I want a ballet.” Mangiafuoco nodded, stood, and strode to the door, opening it for her. “Then we shall begin right away. I have just the ballet in mind. A lovely little reenactment of one of the more romantic battles to have taken place in our realms. It's very popular, the Nutcracker. That will be the note you shall leave my theater on.” Intermission It is a disorienting thing to wake standing up in a room you did not go to sleep in, even stranger to open your eyes to a cold darkness looming before you. The office furnace squatted before Penny, crooning delight and encouragement towards her. Penny’s reflexes screamed to leap away but the silver strings steadily pulled her closer. Then with a cry and a bang the furnace was slammed shut. Mangiafuoco stood behind Penny with his great arm reaching out between her to hold the furnace closed. “Ah, Signorina Penny. I was looking for you. I was hoping we could converse about today’s performance.” Penny turned her head as much as she was able to address him. “I’m very sorry Signor, I’m not at all sure how I got in here. I was asleep and found myself in such an odd situation.” Magniafuoco continued, ignoring her explanation. “Technically, every movement you made today was exactly as I asked of you. No mistakes and an efficient representation of my vision. However, that is not good enough. It lacked any sort of passion altogether. I am not pleased.” “You’re quite right, Signor. I have not found myself in much of a position to give you my all, I’m afraid. I very much desire to.” “Well, I’ve been debating with myself in how to best put you in a position where you will give me your best. I’ve even written your master, considering that I have paid for his best and not received it.” Penny’s eyes lowered. “I see, I’m sure he will be quite willing to offer back your payment if that is the case.” It was odd how he acted as if she was not even present; she felt a pain inside that she had let him down, even though it was no fault of her own. Magniafuoco’s one sided conversation went on. “He was of little help, so I’ve decided to have faith that next time you will give me your all. With mistakes and a butchering of my vision, but with a fire that hotter than even I can exhale. Sleep well Signorina Penny.” The man drew back his arm, passing it through every silver wire that ascended from Penny. Where string met his flesh, string melted and gave way. Penny sagged as her weight was no longer supported for her. Bouncing back to her feet and smile beaming wider than ever before, she leaned up and kissed Mangiafuoco on the nose, lips blistering at the touch. “I shall sleep well, and tomorrow I shall give you a performance like no other. The Nutcracker Penny started and ceased stretching. A familiar face was across the way. A particular ratman, a cousin of Philippe’s that visited the Master’s domain sporadically to deliver fruits, had arrived. With a genuine smile Penny strode to him. “Good morning Claude! What brings you to the theater? There is no burlesque show running that I know of.” Penny teased. The ratman turned towards her, slowly revealing a second head. Philippe bared his teeth at her in an imitation of a smile. “Why Penny! I’m afraid you’ve gotten me confused with my dear cousin. An easy mistake considering.” Claude’s head spoke simultaneously and identically with Philippe, no hint of that brogue country accent Penny used to giggle at. Penny stepped back. “Why?” “Why am I here? I figured I would try out for the role of the Rat King. I’ll need a bit of makeup for the other heads, but I think I’ve got the character nailed down.” “Why would you do such a thing to Claude?” “Ah, that. Well, we had a bit of a disagreement over a woman. I really had no choice but to defend myself and…. One thing led to another. Claude had no one to blame but himself. I can’t help it if his mistake was beneficial for me.” “Philippe, if Claude had said those exact same words to me, I would have believed him. Good luck with your audition Philippe. I hope you act better than you lie.” Penny strutted off, Philippe’s face glaring at her sourly, while Claude’s had a whisper of a smile on it. Fire raged in Penny's belly. Silver wire looped through her eyescrews and bound her tight. Philippe used the loose end to leash her to the top of the great tree. Down below packs of rats hunted down lone gingerbread men and devoured them. A brave unit of toy soldiers and the Nutcracker battled their way up, crushing any rats they came upon. Philippe seemed unbothered by the turn of events. “A bit thrilling to be part of such a great Tale isn’t it, Penny? It’s one thing to act in a play, but to reenact such a grand piece of one’s cultural history is an honor. Not quite in the script for you to be all tied up is It, though?” He drawled. “But then again, the script is so that you understand what will be expected of you beforehand, and you knew quite well that you’d be the damsel in the distress.” Penny smiled, as ever. “Of course, but the Nutcracker is making swift progress, I’ll not be tied up for long.” “Such confidence in your prince charming! But like I said, the script is so you know what to expect, not what a person with enough will and effort will actually do in the Tale. I don’t plan to lose this time.” “How is this is a proper play if it can change according to the actor’s whim?” “It isn’t a proper play, we assume the roles, but are not the roles in their entirety. The audience is not here to be entertained. They are obligated to observe the cycle when it repeats itself, no matter how it actually turns out. A century hence they will watch again and it will likely play out as it always has. But this time the Rat King will have his princess, and that is good news for me.” “The Nutcracker always wins and is chosen for his ability to sever every head on your shoulders, why are you so confident?” “That piece of driftwood? I’ve already taken his measure, and the measure of every person who auditioned that was far superior to him. I incentivized his betters to go elsewhere. He is nothing before me, Penny. I’m going to break his fingers and use them to pick my teeth and stuff the rest of him into Mangiafuoco’s stove. “ “Someday, I think I will murder you in your sleep Philippe.” “So feisty! A strong spirit is such a joy to break. But here comes your last pathetic hope, already worn and torn from the trials and tribulations of fighting mere minions.” Up the branch strode the Nutcracker. He had no gingerbread men left, for the rats had caught and eaten them. He had no toy soldiers left, for they bravely stayed being and had their joints gnawed away. Yet, he had his courage left, and sword in hand he struck down the last two rat guards left and face the Rat King. There on the top of the tree, they stared each other down. Sadly, once the fight was joined, it was quite evident that the Nutcracker lacked Philippe’s skill, strength, and stamina. The Rat King soon broke the wooden soldier’s hand and his sword landed point down and quivering before Penny. The Rat King held his sword to the Nutcracker’s neck. “Pick it up. I’m enjoying myself.” The Nutcracker scrabbled for the blade. Penny leaned over and kissed it before he took it up in his left hand. Once grasped, and without looking, her jerked the blade up and blocked a down stroke from the treacherous Rat King. With a look of surprise on his face, the Nutcracker knocked aside his foe’s axe and lurched up to his feet, sword leading the way. His blade was swift and true yet his posture was poor and his eyes focused on his own blade in astonishment instead of watching his enemy. The Rat King stepped back, taken aback, and the sword pressed ever forward, never letting up. Penny grinned at Philippe from the side line. “I wish I had realized earlier that a strong will could change the outcome. Look at you here, commanding a King's will. But what kind of King never gets what they really want? You’ll have nothing from me or of me, Philippe. You are a King of Nothing.” With a snicker snack the sword disarmed the rat-man. Parelleling the not long past plight of the Nutcracker he desperately grasped for his axe. A hairsbreadth away from his weapon the sword lunged forth and lopped off Philippe’s ear. With a yowl he turned turned to face the Nutcracker and found the sword blade pressed against his throat and the axe come to life behind him, tapping on the back of his skull. Risking fingers, and using Claude's head to shield his own, Philippe knocked aside the blades bare handed, twirled, and leaped for the branch below. Each head blead heavily, Claude's eyes were closed. Philippe's head sucked at stumps where fingers were. He glanced back up to the top of the tree and grimaced before turning tail and fleeing. An exhausted and bewildered Nutcracker fell to his feet, laying down the blade. Penny coughed. “If you would be so kind as to cut me free.” The Nutcracker nodded and got back on his feet, drawing a knife. “No. Not you, I was talking to the valiant sword there.” Cut loose, Penny walked off from the battlefield, leaving the Nutcracker alone at the top. This was the last performance of the season, tomorrow she went home, to the Master. Category:Fiction